


desolate and ready to kill

by carrionkid



Series: sheltering skies and stable earth beneath [1]
Category: Marvel (Comics), X-Force (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: (maybe? idk if it counts), Angst, Canon Compliant, Dissociation, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 18:26:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14774867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionkid/pseuds/carrionkid
Summary: i wrote a few star viewpoint fics for x factor but i wanted to try getting into star's head in the 90s and it just kind of got out of control. this covers from star's first appearance up til ric going home for the first time and a bunch of missing scenes between those two events. featuring lots of pining and learning to be a person.title is from the song 'raised by wolves' by voxtrot. can be read as a prequel to 'all this could be yours' if you want it to be, it does work as a standalone.--Shatterstar does not know how tobe.Knows how to act, that is easy.





	desolate and ready to kill

Shatterstar does not know how to  _ be _ . 

 

Knows how to  _ act _ , that is easy. 

 

Knows endless combinations of movements, so familiar that orders are unnecessary. 

 

Sleeps, when possible. Eats, when given. Does not cry. (Anymore.)

 

Stays at the top; there is safety in status.

 

Shatterstar is  _ something.  _

 

Something inside of a prison. Cage of flesh; cage of steel.

 

The body hurts; Shatterstar does not. 

 

The body is protected out of courtesy. If it dies, Shatterstar will as well.

 

The body moves well, careful and calculated, honed to a point. 

 

It plays many roles; weapon, cage, performer. Newest is soldier.

 

Shatterstar  _ wants,  _ terrible and aching, no words to put to the wanting. It is distracting, consuming, inconvenient. 

 

* * *

The room is unremarkable, offering only mechanical opponents. Dispatched easily in time for the occupants to notice. None are recognizable as the targets. Safer to clear the area and continue on, but there are orders.

 

The flesh fight better than the mechanical. Movements are unfamiliar and unaccounted for. It is irritating. The flesh is slow, but heavy, barking words that are translatable but irrelevant. One lands a blow, lucky kick, snapping a rib; the lungs are still functional. Striking back is acceptable now, the fight was instigated by this side.

 

Five opponents are easy, when the actions are familiar. This is effort; another irritation, added to the list of how heavy the opponents are and the broken rib. It will not heal until rest is an option.

 

Rib-breaker lands another blow, body falters as rib-breaker talks and points. The only relevant word spoken is  _ surrender. _

 

The body obeys most orders, but it is a traitor with words, it snarls strangely, “You want  _ surrender?” _

 

“I want you to calm down and talk.”

 

“Beat me,” irritation shifts to rage, “Expect  _ calm _ ?”

 

One can fly, it would appear. Another annoyance for the list. Body turns quickly, uses power against better judgement. The flying one goes down, only to be replaced by a bigger one. The big one, looks half-flesh half-mechanical, knocks the body back against a wall.

 

“He’s just a kid,” the rib-breaker whisper-speaks to the big one, unaware that the body hears well.

 

The big one crouches down; fingers curl around the hilt, still desperate for action, even when cornered.

 

“Look,” sounds softer, “We’re not gonna hurt you anymore.”

 

That is a lie. Always a lie. 

 

There are still orders, “Need the X-Men.”

 

“‘Fraid we can’t do that,” Rib-breaker steps closer, “We’re the best you’re getting.”

 

“Failed, defeated,  _ useless and weak _ .”

 

Another one, loud, bright armor coloring, yells out, “Why’s he look like we’re gonna kill him?”

 

“You got a name?” Metal-and-flesh asks.

 

The body is a  _ thing,  _ Shatterstar is  _ something.  _ These opponents seem to act as if the two are synonymous.

 

“Callsign. Shatterstar.”

 

Rib-breaker laughs, “That’s close enough. Let’s get you patched up.”

 

It is not a familiar set of words, nor is it one that suggests a clear meaning. The body tenses, seemingly understanding Shatterstar’s distrust. Still, rib-breaker and the others are the victors, this is surrender; the body stands. 

 

* * *

To be patched up is synonymous with medics. 

 

It is irritating and degrading, a mockery of both Shatterstar and the body. Worse yet, it is earned. These opponents are not superior, just unfamiliar in movement, yet Shatterstar has still been bested.

 

Adaptation is one of Shatterstar’s appeals, increased marketability, yet it has failed. Perhaps it has atrophied since joining with the Alliance. That is a disadvantage that must be rectified.

 

There are other versions of the body, few left now, but Shatterstar is something different, well liked for thinking, learning. Not static, not boring, like the canceled models. The body is unremarkable; Shatterstar is remarkable.

 

The loud one sits closest, talking quickly without any obvious point.

 

“Name’s Tabitha. Tabitha Smith. Most people call me Boom Boom, though, and Ric’s the only one that gets to call me Tabs so if you do I’ll fuck you up.”

 

Tabitha Smith does not sound like a designation, no parts of it align with Shatterstar’s knowledge of this dimension’s number system.

 

The loud one, Tabitha Smith, pauses, “What’s beeping?”

 

Fekt. The proximity sensor has activated.

 

“Proximity sensor.”

 

Rib-breaker glares, “And that means, what, exactly?”

 

The Imperial Protectorate is after the body, which would not be a problem if Shatterstar was not  _ within it _ . 

 

The inhabitants of this world rely far too much on dialogue, it is tedious compared to action.

 

“Another fight, harder opponents, do not allow opponents to regenerate.”

 

The weight of the flesh renders them slow, reaction time blunted. Shatterstar is already in motion when the rest appear to gain awareness at what is happening.

 

The body slips carefully into a well-played pattern. The Imperial Protectorate are not easy opponents but are closer to what Shatterstar knows. 

 

Shatterstar is the best and could be comparable to the Protectorate, but to be too skilled is to be a target. 

 

Shatterstar is used to guiding the body with quiet restraint. That has grown unnecessary. 

 

Shatterstar draws first blood, smells it in the air. The wound closes quickly, Protectorate guard charging in return. The guard’s arm is cleaved from the body with ease. 

 

To face the familiar is electrifying, cutting through the static crackle of confusion and uncertainty.

 

It will be a good fight, shameful to go unrecorded, but it would be treasonous, doomed to be censored, if Shatterstar is triumphant.

 

Shatterstar stays close enough to the body to ensure the vitals are functional; any closer would result in tangling with the body, a dangerous distraction. 

 

The body is caught, snared by a Protectorate guard foolish enough to leave arms unrestrained.

 

The guard declares orders to retrieve the body as prisoner or trophy. The body already serves sufficiently as a prison, but clarifications are pointless.

 

Shatterstar buries the sword through the body, hilt pressed to soft skin of the stomach. The guard growls out. Shatterstar is stuck in the sensation of blood, wet and warm against the body’s fingers, slicking armor to the body’s back.

 

The room is entirely silent as the body takes over, pulling the sword free. The guard falls to the ground. The others, allies for the duration of the moment, watch the body without movement.

 

This group is not comparable to the warriors spoken of by the Alliance, all eyes on Shatterstar as if Audience newcomers watching a first fight. 

 

The body falters, dropping to the floor. Shatterstar moves closer, still safely distant, close enough to feel the wound and focus in on it. 

 

“Are you fucking insane?” 

 

Metal-and-flesh sounds displeased. It is unjustified. Without orders, Shatterstar is permitted to make judgements when necessary.

 

“Doing what is necessary,” the words taste of blood, “Will _ win _ . At any cost.”

 

Internal damage is irritating, but Shatterstar knows what is nonessential for the body. Shatterstar forces the body to stand, worst of the damage already undoing. 

 

The Protectorate flee. It is a coward’s move, but one that ensures victory for neither side.

 

There are other opponents, ones present for the flesh, but the feeling of not knowing is becoming tedious. 

 

Leave flesh to flesh. 

 

The body is needy, pulling Shatterstar back in until standing is a challenge. 

 

Shatterstar slinks away, others too focused on arguing. Being cornered is not ideal, but being pressed between two walls at least gives the guarantee that the back is not open to attack. Palms pressed against the wound, Shatterstar leans into the ache until there is nothing else.

 

* * *

“Oh gross. You totally bled all over the wall.”

 

Shatterstar growls, low and rumbling, pressing closer against the wall. The body is tired. Shatterstar is tired.

 

“Ugh, don’t growl at me!” 

 

Tabitha Smith kicks at the body, strangely soft, not an action that feels like a threat, but the body is too tired to return the action if it was a threat.

 

“Cable’s waiting on you for the team meeting. You just disappeared halfway through the fight, which is totally uncool but you’re new here so I’ll let it slide.”

 

Shatterstar stands. Everything is strange and solid, spread out within the body without much space left to move.

 

“Where’d that big cut go?” 

 

“It  _ healed _ .” 

 

“Cool, that’s cool,” Tabitha Smith makes a valiant effort to sync with Shatterstar’s pace, “It’s probably handy. I dunno if I’d stab myself in the stomach, even if I knew it would heal, but that was pretty hardcore. ‘Specially how that guy never even saw it coming!” 

 

* * *

Shatterstar does not eat, has not eaten since the day before. The group, now classified as X-Force, eats, but nothing is given, nor has it been earned. The body aches, still traitorous, caring not for the fact that this group has bested Shatterstar. 

 

Finding a way back to the place from before is impossible, the structure is large and winding and unfamiliar. The body gives out, settling into another intersection of walls. 

 

The structure is dark when the body stirs, twitching awake at the sound of speech. The body is smart, is careful, even when Shatterstar cannot guide.

 

“Any particular reason why you didn't eat?” Rib-breaker speaks, identifiable even in darkness by the distinctive eye mark. Perhaps Shatterstar and rib-breaker are the same.

 

“Broke a rib,” Shatterstar spits. The body aches still, even when healed, and Shatterstar is irritated.

 

“I did, didn't I?” Rib-breaker laughs, “And you're just going to have to learn to deal with that, kid.”

 

The body growls on reflex as rib-breaker reaches out. 

 

Rib-breaker pulls back, “Let's get you some food, okay? The name’s Domino, by the way.”

 

The body protests; Shatterstar stands. Follows rib-breaker Domino. It was not spoken as an order, but Shatterstar knows when orders are intended without indication.

 

Rib-breaker Domino points to a place at a table. Shatterstar sits, still and waiting, in preparation of what may come.

 

“We don't have much. You'd be surprised how much four teenagers eat. Uh, we’ve got some leftover spaghetti and that's about it.”

 

Domino places the food in front of Shatterstar. It is unfamiliar, just as so many things in this world, there are enough unknowns that it is infuriating. The body moves without being asked, curled over as fingers carefully guide handfuls to mouth. Domino laughs, hand covering mouth as if to hide the action.

 

It is cold. Cold and strange and something that Shatterstar can feel, can taste. For the first time, the unfamiliar is not wholly bad. The familiar is tasteless, thick and heavy and carefully calculated based off vital stats to ensure it is enough when given once per day. Shatterstar eats until there is nothing left, licks the memory of taste from fingers. 

 

“You still hungry?”

 

Shatterstar does not like not knowing, not understanding, but the answer is unclear.

 

“You don't talk much, do you?”

 

“Becoming used to it,” Shatterstar admits, “No time to practice, before arrival.”

 

“You’re stuck with us now. You’ve got plenty of time to practice.”

 

Domino takes the container, running it under water while adding, “We’re leaving so soon, we don’t have time to get you a dorm, but you can sleep on the couch tonight.”

 

It is less than ideal to sleep somewhere with so many unknowns, but the body has already slept twice without any harm. Still, Shatterstar harbors concerns. There has not been any retribution for the loss, to live comes at a price, one not yet stated. 

 

There is a promise from the one both flesh and machine, Cable. War for war, blood for blood, not named as debt but close enough.

 

Domino sets the container aside, again gesturing to be followed. Shatterstar is led to quarters, or something similar to quarters, large and open, room bathed in low light. Domino clears one of the furnishings; there is enough context to determine that this is likely the couch.

 

The body lays down, curling inwards, arms wrapped around stomach without prompting. Shatterstar knows this is another prison, but the body does not understand, pressing into the strange softness, still alert enough to keep eyes open until others are gone.

 

“Need a blanket?”

 

It is better to avoid answering than to admit uncertainty.

 

“I’m gonna give you one anyway,” Domino sighs, unfolding a length of cloth before placing it over the body, “We’re moving out tomorrow so you might as well sleep.”

 

When Domino leaves, Shatterstar kicks the blanket off, pushing the body’s back to the solid side of the couch. The room is open, doorless, framed by panes of glass at waist height. The others move freely, there are no locks, no cells. Shatterstar is bound only by words, locked in this room by nothing but promise. 

 

* * *

Shatterstar stays, fights at the side of X-Force. Learning is easy, almost unconscious, and it is not long before Shatterstar can anticipate, can predict the movements to come. The body falls into quiet loops of training, stopping only when Domino or Cable insist upon it. 

 

The obvious conclusion is that failing, being bested, has gone unpunished only because Shatterstar is  _ useful.  _ Training maintains that usefulness and fills the space. 

 

There is not  _ enough  _ on this world, another nameless wanting that makes Shatterstar restless. Biting at the soft skin of fingers until they are tacky with blood quiets the feeling. 

 

The body heals fast enough that no one notices, no one has ever noticed.

 

Shatterstar is becoming better at  _ inhabiting. _

 

To be spread out within the body is uncomfortable and painful in a way only half remembered. The body and Shatterstar move in sync, not  _ guiding  _ but  _ doing _ . 

 

It does not feel like the body belongs to Shatterstar, even when moving simultaneously. The closest it comes to a feeling of synchronization is when Shatterstar can lean into the ache of a wound, no matter how fleeting.

 

There is no retribution for synchronization; Shatterstar has found it to be assumed as the default.

 

This is an incomprehensible world, but not an entirely negative one.

 

* * *

There is nothing tying Shatterstar to the group now that there is no contact with Cable and Domino, but being with this team is the closest to freedom that Shatterstar has ever felt. 

 

The gap left by Domino and Cable is filled quickly. The space is taken by a side-switcher, traitor, one which is accepted easily by the remainder of the team on nothing more than the grounds of a prior connection. 

 

The other members of the team manage to connect easily in ways which Shatterstar cannot manage. The discussions always fall to things with which Shatterstar is unfamiliar, topics without discernible purpose. 

 

The inability to form and maintain these alliances does not affect the ultimate cohesion of the team. Cable and Domino’s assertions are  _ wrong.  _ Shatterstar can function within the structure of the team without them.

 

Out of all the members of X-Force, Shatterstar is probably closest to Tabitha Smith. 

 

It is a tense connection, one which Shatterstar has learned must be navigated carefully. Shatterstar is unused to operating at a deficit. This world is endlessly confusing but  _ that  _ is easily the most irritating facet of it.

 

This life is softer, almost too soft, but it is not easier. It is built upon interactions built upon knowing built upon something unspoken, and Shatterstar does not have any sense of necessary framework.

 

Tabitha Smith connects with the outsider with ease. It is easy to draw the conclusion that this outsider is the one designated as ‘Ric’, as Tabitha Smith stated that Callsign Ric is the only one permitted to use the Callsign Tabs. It is uncertain if the opposite is also true.

 

Tabitha Smith appears to be dedicated to forcing Shatterstar into alliance with Callsign Rictor, designation Julio Richter.

 

Shatterstar understands that one can be an enemy one vid and an ally another, but is unused to such a quick change of allegiances. It does not bode well for the future. 

 

Sam Guthrie, Callsign Cannonball, offered part of an explanation: Julio Richter has defected to the team known as X-Force.

 

There are many words Shatterstar does not understand. To state that fact is to admit it, but it is easy to decode meanings without asking.

 

Defector. 

 

Constructed from defect. 

 

Shatterstar is acquainted with that meaning. Acquainted with whispered warnings of models being marked defective, to be canceled immediately. 

 

It is disheartening foreshadowing for the status of Callsign Rictor on the team. 

 

It is justification to avoid attempts by Tabitha Smith to orchestrate an alliance.

 

* * *

Callsign Rictor is uneasy with the return of Cable. It is plainly obvious, even to Shatterstar, to which matters of emotion are apparently yet another deficit. 

 

Shatterstar is familiar with distrust, unfamiliar with how to communicate that fact to Callsign Rictor; again struck with the fact that it is a curse to live upon a dialogue-driven world.

 

“You do not like Cable,” Shatterstar says, watching Callsign Rictor carefully.

 

Tabitha Smith is clearly becoming a character influence. It is irritating.

 

“That’s an understatement.”

 

The response is accompanied by laughter despite the fact there was no attempt at making a joke; Shatterstar shrugs it off, “You do not  _ trust  _ Cable.”

 

“Even  _ more  _ of an understatement.”

 

Shatterstar frowns; potential courses of dialogue are rarely followed by anyone in any straightforward way.

 

“I am  _ trying  _ to…” 

 

Hands curl to fists, frustration building. There is something, just out of reach. A name for the feeling, a name for all the feelings being discovered. It is a slow, agonizing process.

 

“I know.”

 

Yet another unexpected statement.

 

“You’re weird, I know that. You’re, like, an alien, right?”

 

That is not entirely true but most members of X-Force are unwilling to listen to a thorough explanation. Shatterstar has found it best to silently agree.

 

“Tabs tries to get everyone to make friends with me. If she put you up to this, you really don’t have to do it.”

 

The response is enough to be taken as a cease and desist. Tabitha Smith’s orders to ally with Julio Richter are null and void.

 

* * *

Leaving a challenge uncompleted aches like an open wound. Shatterstar picks at it; desire to ally with Callsign Rictor now doubled with the refusal.

 

The first step is to memorize Callsign Rictor’s routine, to find commonalities. Callsign Sunspot implied that commonalities are important framework for alliances, albeit in a tone that could be classed as derisive.

 

“What’re you doin’, Shattybuns?”

 

Feral ranks second in level of closeness after Tabitha Smith, though it is mostly unwanted. None of Shatterstar’s attempted deterrents have succeeded. 

 

The question is not worth responding to; Feral acts as if there was a response anyway, “You're stalkin’ him like you're gonna kill him.

 

“I am  _ not. _ ”

 

“Yeah, you are.”

 

“No. I am  _ not.” _

 

The majority of conversations with Feral follow this script. At least it is predictable.

 

“Nobody else notices you lurkin’ around ‘cos they don’t know how to track anyone. But I see you.”

 

Shatterstar huffs. The ideal course of action would be walking away but Domino has warned against that.

 

“Have you tried talkin’ to him?”

 

“It was an uneventful conversation.”

 

“That’s ‘cos you don’t have a personality, Shattybuns, training isn’t a replacement for that.”

 

Shatterstar was not involved with the type of programming that called for character traits, they were not an expected default until reaching Earth.

 

“He’s in the common room,” Feral smiles, teeth bared, “Try actin’ like a person for once.”

 

Shatterstar is annoyed at the fact that Feral seems to have at least one reasonable idea, but not annoyed enough to stop walking towards the common room.

 

Callsign Rictor is the only one in the room, spread out on the couch in a way that should suggest relaxation, but seems to instead suggest guardedness, careful restraint. Something plays on a screen positioned across from the couch. It is slower than Shatterstar is used to, but something very familiar.

 

Shatterstar sits in the gap of empty space between Callsign Rictor and the edge of the couch, knees drawn in close to chest, gaze cast on the screen.

 

“Uh,” Julio Richter looks over, eyes narrowed, “Hi?”

 

Shatterstar’s attention flicks from the screen, quick look to the periphery, “Hello.”

 

“Any, uh, any particular reason why you’re here?”

 

“I am  _ trying  _ to form an alliance.”

 

“O- _ kay _ …”

 

The programming is almost agonizingly slow, making Shatterstar’s fingers buzz uncomfortably. There is what looks to be a remote on the long table in front of the couch, it is easy to dart forward and grab it.

 

Shatterstar pulls back, curling tightly again, before clicking through the channels.

 

“What the fuck,” Julio Richter says, “Can you actually keep up with that?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Shatterstar returns to the action. Most of the programming is unfamiliar, often dialogue-driven. From cursory observation, the best programming is the kind in which the points at which the audience should laugh are clearly indicated.

 

There is one broadcast that proves to be eye-catching. Shatterstar stops on the channel, airing a program that looks to be a cage-match between unarmed antagonists. It is more structured than what is familiar, but the sound of the crowd is the same.

 

“What is this?”

 

“That’s, uh,” Julio Richter does not often complete a sentence at once, “That’s boxing.”

 

“What is boxing?”

 

“ _ That’s _ boxing,” Julio points at the TV, “Wait. Fuck. You didn’t mean it like that. Uh, it’s, well, it’s an Earth sport. Basically people just beating each other up for fun, but more rules. It’s kinda stupid.”

 

“What are the stakes?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“What are the stakes? Is the broadcast a death-match? Is it for food? Something else?”

 

Shatterstar cannot accurately classify the look on Julio Richter’s face.

 

“No, none of that stuff. I mean. I think the winners get money sometimes, but I dunno much about sports.”

 

Shatterstar hums through pursed lips; this world still proves to be incomprehensible. The technique of the cage-fighters proves to be mediocre; Shatterstar switches to the next channel, then the next.

 

“Can you slow down? How do you even  _ enjoy  _ any of this?”

 

The tone of the questions suggest anger.

 

“The other way is far too slow,” Shatterstar explains, “There is not  _ enough… _ ”

 

Whatever is lacking is yet another nameless thing. There are a startling amount of nameless things for such a dialogue-driven world, but it is possible Shatterstar is the only one without those names.

 

“Whatever,” Julio stands, “You can have the TV. It’s  _ fine. _ ”

 

The way it is said suggests that this is  _ not  _ fine, but there is not enough time to bring that fact up. Now the only occupant of the room, Shatterstar resumes flicking through channels.

 

* * *

The next attempt is far more successful. Shatterstar takes the space next to Julio again and is not met with any conflict.

 

“You can stay if you promise to actually watch TV instead of just clicking through channels.”

 

It is a less than ideal situation, but a reasonable compromise in the name of completing the goal of allying with Julio Richter.

 

The dialogue drags on and all the actors move at an agonizingly slow pace, but there is the sole comfort that this is one of the broadcasts with the auditory indicators as to the tone of the scene. Tabitha called it a laugh track, leaving Shatterstar to wonder as to who exactly is providing the laughter.

 

“So, your name’s Shatterstar, right?” Julio asks, eyes avoiding Shatterstar as if afraid.

 

“I have a Callsign,” Shatterstar answers, then gestures to the body, “This has a designation.”

 

“I…” Julio gives a strange look, brows furrowed, “I’m gonna take that as a yes?”

 

There is a tense break of silence, one which Shatterstar is uncertain of how to resolve.

 

“I’m just gonna call you Star. You need a name you can tell people when you do normal people things. Which we’re gonna start doing if you wanna be my friend. All you do is work out or watch TV, dude.”

 

“We are friends?” Shatterstar asks, “That is synonymous with alliance, yes?”

 

“I mean, I think so? I dunno what you mean by alliance but yeah, I guess we’re friends now.”

 

“Good,” Shatterstar stands, “I am leaving now. This is far too slow.”

 

“Oh, uh,” Julio waves, “See you around? I mean. We do both live here.”

 

“Yes. We will see each other again. That is inevitable.”

 

* * *

Shatterstar is next interrupted during training by Julio; this would normally be intolerable but in this situation, it almost borders on acceptable.

 

“Get up and get ready, we’re ditching to go do something fun.”

 

Shatterstar stands, head cocked to the side, “That is allowed?”

 

“Probably not but fuck Cable, I wanna go be a 19 year old instead of learning how to kill people in new and exciting ways.”

 

Shatterstar is apprehensive at the idea of not alerting Cable of this action, shifts from foot to foot while considering.

 

“I will meet you downstairs.”

 

“Cool,” Julio says, heading from the room.

 

Shatterstar does not get ready, the idea of defiance is familiar but still uncomfortable, especially when the one to be defied has not proven to be tyrannical. Cable is found easily; more often than not, time is spent downstairs among the rest of the machines.

 

“Julio Richter is sneaking out.”

 

“We’ve been over this,” Cable looks over, setting down a wrench, “Everyone on the team can leave whenever they want to. This isn’t a prison.”

 

“I am going along as well.”

 

“Good, that’s  _ good _ , Shatterstar. You’re working on making friends.”

 

Shatterstar frowns, teeth digging into lips, “It is not easy.”

 

“It never is, kid,” Cable sighs, looking back to the machinery, “Have fun, don’t get arrested. Domino won’t let you touch the bail fund unless you get arrested on a mission.”

 

Shatterstar leaves without responding, heading up to the garage. Julio is leaning back against one of the team’s vehicles, foot tapping against the concrete.

 

“Took you long enough.”

 

“I was getting  _ ready. _ ”

 

“You went and told Cable, didn’t you?” 

 

Julio looks over at Shatterstar, brows raised, waiting for a response.

 

“You’re a pretty shitty rebel warrior if you can’t even sneak out without telling Cable.”

 

Shatterstar is certain it is not meant maliciously as the statement is accompanied by laughter. That does not diminish the sting of a verbal attack on one’s pride. 

 

The first destination is a small restaurant, one that is deliberately modeled after an older aesthetic which Shatterstar finds decidedly atmospheric. Julio orders more than the necessary amount of food, resolving the strenuous matter of deciding what to eat.

 

Shatterstar’s metabolism has slowed down since the body has stopped being injured routinely. It is a strange sensation to begin eating for the sake of eating, for different tastes and textures, but not an entirely unwelcome one.

 

Julio slides a plate of food over, saying, “You like movies, right?”

 

Shatterstar nods.

 

“Let’s go to Blockbuster after, you can rent some shit and we can go home and watch it.”

 

“Why are you doing this?” 

 

“Doing  _ what? _ ” Julio answers, face flushed, voice hitching slightly.

 

“You are giving food,” Shatterstar growls, nose wrinkled, “Giving vids. What are you expecting? What is the  _ catch _ ? The cost?”

 

“Uh. Nothing. This is what friends do and it’s kinda sad to see you failing at being a person so horribly. I figure finding you a favorite movie is a pretty easy place to start developing a personality.”

 

Shatterstar does not answer; again one of the team members has placed value on the possession of character traits. Unfortunately, that is never accompanied with any advice on how to acquire character traits.

 

The meal is finished out in silence. Julio seems uncomfortable up until the moment it is paid for, returning quickly to the sidewalk outside of the restaurant afterwards.

 

“We can probably just walk to Blockbuster, it’s a nice night.”

 

It would appear that Shatterstar is not the target for whatever Julio seems to be feeling. It is something strange, something that does not fall under anger or fear or mistrust, but seems to align with  those emotions. For every emotion Shatterstar can identify, there appear to be significantly more spin-offs.

 

The thought is lost as Julio reaches out, quickly grabbing Shatterstar’s hand. The reaction is instantaneous, body pulling back before trying to shake away feeling.

 

“Why did you do that?” Shatterstar growls, still trying to claw away the afterimage static of skin against skin.

 

“I didn’t want you to run off,” Julio speaks quickly, hands held up as if prepared to surrender.

 

“I will not ‘ _ run off’ _ ,” Shatterstar spits the words, one of the most useful communicative techniques of this world are air-quotes.

 

“Look, sorry, okay, fuck. This is not going well.”

 

“Do  _ not  _ touch me.”

 

“Okay,” Julio says, “Okay, okay, I won’t.”

 

Shatterstar cradles hand to stomach, still trying to rub away the static. It clings to the skin like dried blood, refusing to fully clean away.

 

“Are you, like, okay?”

 

“I cannot make it go  _ away _ .”

 

“I won’t touch you again,” Julio sounds soft, not angry or in search of retribution, “Is this some sort of alien thing?”

 

Shatterstar hums, thinking, “I am uncertain.”

 

“C’mon,” Julio begins walking again, “Let’s get to Blockbuster before it closes.”

 

Following a few paces behind ensures that there will not be a repeat of the first incident. Shatterstar would not have run off, does not need to be led around, but Julio rarely seems to act with malicious intent, even on the battlefield.

 

* * *

Julio insisted that the Star Wars trilogy was essential viewing for anyone on Earth, yet is asleep by the halfway mark of the second vid. It is not a mistake Shatterstar would make, being so unguarded, so vulnerable in the company of someone so unfamiliar. 

 

Perhaps this is another component of friendship, one of the criteria that separate it from an alliance. Even in an alliance, Shatterstar would not sleep in the company of a stranger.

 

The second vid ends. Shatterstar moves silently, slipping off the couch to put in the third vid, carefully curling up back on the couch. The effort at being quiet is pointless; Julio stirs slightly, rubs palms against eyes.

 

“Still awake?”

 

The words sound thick, half-spoken.

 

“I am starting the third vid.”

 

“M’kay,” Julio yawns, “M’gonna sleep more.”

 

The promise from earlier is apparently already forgotten. Julio leans, eyes closed, until bodies are pressed together, cheek to Shatterstar’s shoulder, hair against neck. The sensation is more than tolerable when muted by clothing. Julio’s breathing is even and steady by the end of the first act.

 

When the vid is over, Shatterstar does not move. This is trust, this has to be trust. 

 

Julio is asleep. Asleep and in contact with Shatterstar, confident that this is safe and there is no chance of harm in this situation. 

 

The credits end. The vids on Earth are stored on tape, lower quality than the vids of Mojoworld and more confusing, but enjoyable.

 

When it is impossible to avoid shutting off the vid, Shatterstar nudges Julio awake.

 

“Oh fuck. Was this weird? I feel like it was weird. I totally fell asleep on you.”

 

Shatterstar does not respond, choosing instead to turn off the video player.

 

“Was that okay? I said I wouldn’t touch you but, fuck, all my impulse control goes out the window when I’m half asleep.”

 

“It was unfamiliar,” Shatterstar whispers, eyes closed, humming at the memory, “But not bad.”

 

“Good, good,” Julio’s voice wavers, “Just making sure, you freaked out earlier and I said I wouldn’t touch you anymore.”

 

“I think it is okay to be touched sometimes. It is not something I am used to.”

 

Julio has a strange look, eyes wide, mouth open slightly. It comes closest to confusion.

 

“Do, uh,” Julio looks away, “Do you wanna do it again?”

 

Shatterstar shrugs, makes a wavering noise.

 

“This is a one time offer, dude, I’m still sleepy enough that I won’t back out if you say yes.”

 

It does not take long to weigh the pros and cons of this course of events, making a choice in the form of climbing back onto the couch, tucked up against the side of it. Julio leans against Shatterstar  again, heavy and warm, arm draped across stomach.

 

“Mmm, night,” Julio says, quiet enough that only Shatterstar would hear were anyone else in the room.

 

* * *

Shatterstar does not sleep. Does not or can not, the difference is unclear.

 

It would be foolish for Shatterstar to also sleep, it is safer if Julio is the only one in such a vulnerable situation. There is no pattern of attacks on X-Force headquarters, but that does not mean there will not  _ be  _ any attacks.

 

There is a strange feeling caught in Shatterstar’s chest, either something internal and entirely new or the external warmth radiating off of Julio. It is not usually comfortable to be  _ still  _ but in this situation, it is more than acceptable. 

 

Without windows in the common room, it is impossible to gauge the passage of time. Shatterstar estimates it is morning when the sound of footsteps outside of the room becomes commonplace.

 

Julio stirs, slowly at first before snapping into awakeness and pulling away.

 

“God, sorry, that was probably really weird for you.”

 

“It was strange.”

 

“You’re supposed to be like ‘oh no, it wasn’t weird at all for you to fall asleep on me’,” Julio is shaking, an action that is contradicted by the laughter accompanying it.

 

“I am?”

 

“I mean, nobody really just  _ says  _ what they’re thinking, it’s, like, social stuff.”

 

Shatterstar frowns, “That seems needlessly confusing.”

 

“Well, uh, most people can tell when you don’t really mean what you’re saying but you’re just saying it because you  _ have  _ to.”

 

Shatterstar watches Julio, eyes narrowed, “Has  _ everyone  _ been lying to me?”

 

“I don’t know if that counts as lying? Like I said, social stuff.”

 

“ _ It counts. _ ”

 

“Then probably? You’re weird and kind of off-putting and I don’t think anyone other than Tabs really likes you much, but I wouldn’t be spending time with you if I didn’t really  _ mean  _ it.”

 

So there  _ was  _ significance in last night’s physical contact. That revelation feels strange, but wanted. The  _ other  _ revelation is uncomfortable, yet another lack of understanding to second-guess. It is a setback, one which makes all other progress seem a hollow victory. 

 

Shatterstar has never been in situations that required for detection of deception before coming to Earth.

 

“It fucking sucks you had to find out like this,” Julio says, hand hovering over Shatterstar’s shoulder without making contact, “If it helps, I don’t think anyone knows you don’t know that.”

 

“Your world is  _ fekting incomprehensible.  _ It is  _ terrible _ .”

 

“Yeah, it  _ is _ pretty fucking terrible,” Julio laughs, “People are terrible. You’re, like, the one guy who’s exactly what he seems.”

 

Shatterstar growls, tongue between teeth, biting down till blood is drawn.

 

“Look, maybe I can help you with this? The social stuff?”

 

“That is  _ acceptable _ ,” Shatterstar huffs.

 

Apparently this is the purpose of alliance-friendships. It was not clear beforehand, but it must be mutually beneficial. Julio will help navigate social complexities and Shatterstar will find  _ something  _ to offer in return.

 

* * *

With unlimited access to a television, there is plenty of time to research.

 

Before coming to Earth, Shatterstar was never scheduled for any programming with a plot-line. It is an unfamiliar existence, one which is constantly changing in a way that never allows Shatterstar to adjust. There are no quantifiable goals, no ways to prove merit or accomplishment.

 

Fortunately, as this world appears to be plot-driven in addition to being dialogue-driven, a majority of the broadcasting is as well. It is irritating to be thrown into the middle of a plot-line, but the episodic system of Earth is easy enough to navigate. 

 

Those who are broadcasted are easier to understand than those around Shatterstar. Motivations and emotions are much clearer, sometimes even indicated by outside commentary.

 

The lives of the broadcasted are simpler, softer yet than the already soft life on the roster of X-Force. It appears to be an existence free of combat, which seems foolish to Shatterstar. However, it may be a reward of sorts, a trade off for the copyrights of the broadcasted.

 

Shatterstar is no longer one of the broadcasted, a freedom that is well worth putting up with the confusion at the way Earth works.

 

There is still much Shatterstar does not understand, but the broadcasts offer something of a framework for use with the rest of X-Force. It is a matter of practice, of training, the same as any other skill.

 

It is an agonizing process, one that is not easy when the only one who is receptive to attempts at social rule is the one Shatterstar is attempting to understand. It is unclear how to  _ stop  _ being off-putting, but something must be working in some way as Theresa Cassidy is becoming more sociable.

 

It is easy to memorize dialogue, to repeat it back as necessary. Shatterstar is not merely copying, but understanding, modifying,  _ using _ . Words are a tool, not one akin to a blade, more akin to stances, positions, footwork. A foundation to build upon.

 

* * *

A week passes without any indication as to what Shatterstar offers in return. The simplest course of action is to ask; most meal breaks are now spent with Julio and Tabitha, who both spend the duration of the meal  _ talking. _

 

“What are you expecting of  _ this? _ ”

 

“Uh,” Julio pauses, hands held up mid-movement like a freeze-frame, “N-nothing?”

 

The response sounds unnerved, making Shatterstar wonder if it is deceptive.

 

“Obviously, you are wanting something. There is always a cost.”

 

Despite offering to help with the understanding of ‘social stuff’, Julio is starting to become part of the problem with these increasingly cryptic reactions.

 

“I already told you, if I didn’t want to spend time with you, I wouldn’t be eating lunch with you every day,” the response sounds more relaxed, more rehearsed.

 

“You are offering something,” Shatterstar insists, “From which I am benefiting. I see nothing of which I offer to you.”

 

“That’s not how friendship works. At all,” Tabitha adds, loud as ever, “Like, do you even know what friends are?”

 

Shatterstar makes a low noise, annoyed, from the back of the throat.

 

“Oh fuck,” both Tabitha and Julio react in sync.

 

“He hangs out with you because he likes you,” Tabitha offers quickly.

 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t put up with half the shit you do if it was coming from Sam or Terry.”

 

This is yet another strange and uncomfortable revelation; Shatterstar frowns, twisting fingers in hair.

 

“Really, we both want you around. ‘Berto and Sam are scared of you, I’d be avoiding you like they do if I didn’t like you,” Julio speaks quietly, as if to prevent anyone else from hearing.

 

“But  _ why?  _ Why do you like me? I am not useful to you in any understandable way.”

 

“I don’t even know how to  _ begin  _ to answer that.”

 

Tabitha elbows Julio, who, after wincing, adds, “Obviously starting you on Star Wars was a terrible idea and now I’m gonna have to go rent every corny high school coming of age movie I can find so I can teach you what the fuck it means to have friends.”

 

The prospect of having continued access to so many vids is enticing enough that it is not worth pushing the matter. 

 

There is a chance that Julio will ask for something in return, something which is impossible to give, but that is a thought Shatterstar will avoid for the time being.

 

* * *

Shatterstar ends up seated between Tabitha and Julio watching a vid entitled ‘Back to the Future’. 

 

It is enjoyable, despite the fact that an entirely reasonable question about Earth’s widespread access to time travel was laughed away without an adequate answer.

 

Experience seems to suggest that the others rarely use the common room simply because Shatterstar is always there, but it is nice to have these moments without the added challenge of attempting to understand the others.

 

Julio leans against Shatterstar more times than not, it is steadily becoming the familiar. 

 

Julio does not often stay awake for an entire vid. 

 

Another observation is that Julio spends far more time sleeping than anyone else on the team.

 

That is true now. Shatterstar feels slow, even breathing against skin. Tabitha has been the only one giving commentary for the majority of the second act.

 

“He’s totally got it bad for you, you know that right?”

 

Shatterstar is not in the mindset for anything other than the vid, only offering a low hum in response.

 

“Don’t lead him on, okay? Ric’s never had it easy, but he really likes you. And if you hurt him, I’ll… I’ll  _ kill  _ you.”

 

It is unlikely that Tabitha could kill Shatterstar, regardless of the effort, but the sentiment is honorable.

 

“Explain,” Shatterstar says, the sooner this conversation is ended, the sooner full attention can be devoted to the vid, “Explain ‘leading on’.”

 

“Y’know, acting like he might have a chance when he doesn’t. Don’t act like you wanna be with him if you don’t.”

 

“I do not know  _ what  _ I want. There is so much I do not understand.”

 

“Just be  _ careful _ ,” Tabitha says, glaring across the couch, “You’re so weird and unemotional but normal people can get  _ hurt _ .”

 

That is an inaccurate statement. Shatterstar feels many things, more things than were ever wanted, ever needed, but it is not easy to put a name to them or make them known. 

 

It aches to feel, open wound somewhere internal, warm blood spilling out unseen. It is something impossible to mend, but that may be its purpose.

 

Somehow, this is the closest to true fear that Shatterstar has ever come. It scrapes against the inside of the ribcage, heart pounding, breath caught in throat. All sensations are pushed away by the warmth and weight of Julio, mumbling something half-formed, forehead rubbing against Shatterstar’s neck.

 

It is not something that would be allowed by anyone else. Even Tabitha knows well enough to not touch Shatterstar.

 

Shatterstar runs through lines carefully before speaking, “What does Julio  _ want _ ? There must be something, some expectation of this  _ friendship _ .”

 

“He wants  _ you. _ ”

 

The meaning of the statement is not clear to Shatterstar. It does nothing to explain exactly what Shatterstar’s use is or how this unknown use benefits Julio. Pushing Tabitha for a clearer answer seems unwise.

 

The vid is finished in silence. Afterwards, Tabitha Smith leaves without comment.

 

* * *

There is an argument with Cable, one which results in Julio storming from the room. Shatterstar follows, caught up in concern, caught up in the understanding that this level of concern for another is  _ new.  _

 

It is not hard to find Julio, sitting under one of the trees on the lawn. It may be the favorite one or the crying one, but Shatterstar can never tell them apart.

 

“Are you okay?” Shatterstar asks, because it appears to be what one  _ does _ .

 

“Yeah,” Julio’s voice cracks, “M’fine”

 

“This does not  _ sound  _ fine.”

 

“What do you know, anyway?”

 

Shatterstar crouches down, “I have been practicing. I know more now.”

 

“Good. You’ll need it.”

 

“You are leaving, yes?”

 

It hurts to ask, the answer is already known but perhaps it has changed.

 

“I have to.”

 

“You do  _ not,”  _ Shatterstar is frustrated, this is outside of the possibilities that have been prepared for, “No one is ordering you, no one is  _ forcing  _ you.”

 

“Trust me, I have to leave,” Julio laughs, body shaking, two contradictory actions.

 

“You promised to help  _ explain.  _ You promised to  _ help.” _

 

“I can’t explain this one, Star.”

 

Shatterstar falls silent, biting down on fingers in place of shouting. That did not appear to be productive in the argument with Cable.

 

Julio sighs, leaning back against the tree, “Look, I’m not thrilled to be leaving either, but I have to.”

 

This is not working, it calls for a switch in tactics, “Please, stay. You are my  _ best  _ friend,  _ only  _ friend. I  _ need  _ you.”

 

Shatterstar is uncertain as to when the last part became true, but knows it is.

 

“Star, I can’t stay. And I can’t tell you why, either. At least, not yet.”

 

There is not an appropriate response to this situation anywhere among Shatterstar’s lines, there is not enough for even a constructed answer. The only comfort comes in the form of continuing to bite at fingers, the taste of blood makes for a distraction.

 

“We’re gonna go inside,” Julio says, standing, “And you’re gonna help me pack, okay?”

 

Shatterstar nods, following after.

 

In reality, Julio does most of the packing as Shatterstar sits on the bed, listening more so than actually helping.

 

“It’ll be fine, Star, you’ve got the rest of the team.”

 

“The rest of the team does not  _ like  _ me,” Shatterstar threads one of the braids through fingers, twisting carefully over and over.

 

“Tabs likes you.”

 

“Tabitha  _ tolerates  _ me.”

 

Julio laughs, “That’s basically the same thing coming from her. She berated me into being her friend and then berated me into committing misdemeanors with her.”

 

After shutting the suitcase, Julio moves in a way that could be classed as apprehensive, on guard; Shatterstar tenses on reflex, unsure as to what this movement could mean. 

 

The idea of being alone has never been uncomfortable before, but now it is the only identifiable feeling. It is everywhere, spread out through the entirety of the body.

 

“I,” Shatterstar curls forward, “I think I’m dying. What did you do to me?”

 

“Nothing,” Julio looks fearful, “I promise.”

 

“I cannot… Cannot  _ breathe.” _

 

“Okay,” Julio sits on the bed, not touching Shatterstar, “Okay, you’re panicking.”

 

Shatterstar has never actually been in deep water, but assumes that this must be what drowning feels like. Gasping and desperate and terrible, vision spotted with tears for the first time in seasons.

 

“It’s okay, you’re okay, you just need to breathe, you’ll be okay, I promise.”

 

Somehow, Shatterstar ends up lying fully on the bed, knees drawn up to chest. Julio seems to have hands tangled in Shatterstar’s hair, pushing it back carefully, still speaking steadily.

 

There is not a single point of reference for this situation, for the physical sensation or the emotional sensation. It hurts, more so than any wound that has been encountered thus far.

 

Finally, when breathing is possible again, Shatterstar sits up. It is not a good feeling to be so stripped back, so exposed. The feeling is not anger, but that is what is recognizable, familiar.

 

“Do not pretend to care. You are  _ lying,  _ everyone is always  _ lying.” _

 

“Star,” Julio speaks softly, reaching out, “Trust me, I care about you. I care about you more than you know. That’s why I’m leaving.”

 

“Let me come with you,” Shatterstar says, now pleading for the first time in memory.

 

“You belong here, at least for now. There’s no way you can be a normal person right now.”

 

“I am  _ practicing _ .”

 

“I know, I know, but you have to keep practicing,” Julio places a hand on Shatterstar’s shoulder, heavy and firm, sensation muted by fabric, “And one day you’ll be able to come with me.”

 

Julio is leaving.

 

There will be no more vids.

 

There will be no more nights where Julio falls asleep against Shatterstar.

 

There will be no more restaurants or night drives or sneaking out.

 

It is  _ over. _

 

Shatterstar does not like variation. 

 

Life has always been static until now and so much has happened in such a short time.

 

It was pointless to try to lean into change, into being  _ dynamic. _

 

“If you need me,” Julio takes Shatterstar’s hands, “If you  _ really  _ need me, all you have to do is ask, okay?”

 

This contact is not comfortable but it may be the last chance, so it is tolerated.

 

One of Julio’s hands moves up to hair, tangling, pulling Shatterstar closer. It feels right to lean, to move with the action, to let Julio lead. 

 

The movement culminates in lips pressed to Shatterstar’s forehead, a strange buzzing feeling against skin, breath catching again.

 

Julio pulls back, “Take care of yourself, okay? You were in pretty bad shape when I first got here.”

 

“I do not like feeling like this,” Shatterstar admits, curling inwards.

 

“No one likes it. We just deal with it and hope it doesn’t last forever.”

 

Shatterstar makes a low noise, rumbling from the back of the throat. Nothing has ever hurt like this  _ before. _

 

“You can come with me to the airport, we can say goodbye then,” Julio says, carefully combing through Shatterstar’s hair.

 

“I do not  _ want  _ to say goodbye.”

 

“You have to,” Julio laughs, “Social stuff, y’know.”

 

* * *

Shatterstar is nothing if not stubborn, coming along to the airport for no reason other than to try to talk Julio out of leaving.

 

The effort is not expected to be successful, but this is a matter of desperation, a matter in which pride has no sway. 

 

Losing,  _ failing _ , hurts worse than surrender, raw with the knowledge that closeness means nothing in the face of the outcome.

 

It would appear that alliances on Earth are just as painful and short-lived and pointless as on Mojoworld, and yet such significance is placed upon them.

 

The atmosphere of the airport is tense, on edge in a way that cannot be standard for the location. There is a group of people gathered, arguing over something which seems irrelevant compared to everything else that is happening.

 

The demonstration holds some relevance to Julio, who attempts to get involved.

 

Shatterstar wants to say that none of this  _ matters,  _ wants to be the only focus of Julio’s thoughts, but settles for warning against involvement.

 

At least Julio is in agreement on that matter. An intercom system overhead announces the final boarding call for the flight. There is not much time left, a reminder which only worsens this strange, strangling feeling.

 

Standing in front of the boarding area, Shatterstar makes one final attempt to change this course of events.

 

“Julio, please stay. What will I do without you?”

 

This desperation is new, unfamiliar,  _ unpracticed.  _ It is possible it would be more successful if Shatterstar was  _ better  _ at it.

 

“You’ll be fine, Star. You’ve got friends, you’ve got the rest of the team.”

 

“He’ll be fine, once he realizes he’s not alone,” the addition of a third voice makes Julio turn back.

 

Cable is an unexpected element for this scene, one which tips the scales towards the side of Julio leaving a significant amount. Shatterstar tastes blood, tongue between teeth. 

 

This is unfair and cruel and this world has been a curse ever since arrival.

 

“Don’t forget my promise,” Julio says, quieter, as if it is a secret, “If you need me, I’ll come back.”

 

Were this a broadcast, Julio would have stayed, would have returned with Shatterstar and everything would be resolved.

 

But, it is not.

 

Instead, Shatterstar is left in the constant chaos of a crowd, completely and utterly alone yet again.


End file.
